The Hole in the Head

I've joined the statistics of the one in two Australians having a cancer occurence. 

And I am very, very glad that in the scheme of things, this is a minor, treatable and hopefully isolated incident. 

I'd had the "thing" on my temple for years. It was there. It was a bit annoying. But it had started to grow and change and be more annoying so I brought it to the attention of my GP, who had a look and said it had to come off and be sent to pathology for a better look. 

The histology came back: a squamous cell carcinoma - early stages. And unfortunately the margins of the sample weren't clean. My doctor was most apologetic. This would need a bit more intervention with a plastic surgeon doing the work. Also, being on my face, it wasn't something she was confident or comfortable cutting around. It was time to bring out the big guns. 

Today was plastic surgery day. 

Which, in the scheme of things, wasn't a bad experience. 

According to the surgeon, he removes 20-30 of these a week. I'm not special. 

I took a RAT test last night, diligently sending a photo of the test and my medicare card to the surgeon's administrator. 

This morning, I walked to the clinic in Carlton, mostly to clear my head, but I was also told to avoid public transport because of COVID. It was a nice morning for a walk. 

And it was all over in an hour and a half. The surgeon marked me up. It looked like there was a misplaced bindi on my temple. 

Some medical checks by a lovely, reassuring nurse and I was taken into the clinic, where another lovely, reassuring nurse took care of me and held my hand while the local anaesthetic was administered. That was the worst bit of it all. "Keep talking and yelping," said the surgeon,"When you stop, I know we've put enough in." 

I like practical people like this. 

Five minutes later, he was cutting into my temple, taking out the recalcitrant skin. Five minutes after that, six stitches later, it was all over. I really liked that my face had a drape over it - I couldn't see anything and felt very little, bar the odd bit of pushing and pulling. 

My friend Trish came and picked me up, we went for a coffee, and I've spent the day relaxing at home. The cat has done a marvellous job of looking after me. I was feeling a bit wooshy earlier, but that's settled down. I'll work from home tomorrow, more out of self-consciousness about the dressing and not being able to wash my face properly until Friday, when the dressing can be replaced with a less conspicuous bit of tape. 

As I said, in the scheme of things, it's minor. It's been caught early. It's not near any lymph nodes. According to the doctor, he's gone in deep and cut wide margins. The stitches come out next week. And fingers crossed, this will be the end of it all.

My only reservation is that I currently have a small egg of a dressing on my temple which is not allowed to get wet. It also looks like I've had a lobotomy. 

Some would say this is overdue. 

I'm also very grateful for the following things: 

• Medicare
• Private health insurance
• Decent doctors who can deal with this
• Sunscreen (of which I will need to use more)
• Lovely, caring and practical nurses who hold your hand as you're getting stuck with novacaine
• Friends who can pick you up from day surgery
• Sick leave
• A day off.

I'm counting my blessings. My mum and sister have had some of these cut out. They've peppered my family. We're light-skinned Europeans living in a harsh environment. I was in the sun a lot as a kid. I don't generally burn, but I'm still fairly fair. It's a matter of being vigilant. 

And grateful. 

And as for the scar? Well, if anybody asks, I've had a lobotomy. 

Today's song: